“You see that car over there?” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni to the boy. “That is a very important vehicle. I know that car very well.”

The boy looked down at the ground and said nothing.

“It is a beautiful white car,” said the girl, from behind him. “It is like a cloud with wheels.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni turned round and looked at her.

“That is a very good way of talking about that car,” he said. “I shall remember that.”

“How many cylinders does a car like that have?” the girl went on. “Is it six?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni smiled, and turned back to the boy. “Well,” he said. “How many cylinders do you think that car has in its engine?”

“One?” said the boy quietly, still looking firmly at the ground.

“One!” mocked his sister. “It is not a two-stroke!”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s eyes opened wide. “A two-stroke? Where did you hear about two-strokes?”

The girl shrugged. “I have always known about two-strokes,” she said. “They make a loud noise and you mix the oil in with the petrol. They are mostly on small motorbikes. Nobody likes a two-stroke engine.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni nodded. “No, a two-stroke engine is often very troublesome.” He paused. “But we must not stand here and talk about engines. We must go to the shops and buy you clothes and other things that you need.”

THE SHOP assistants were sympathetic to the girl, and went with her into the changing room to help her try the dresses which she had selected from the rack. She had modest tastes, and consistently chose the cheapest available, but these, she said, were the ones she wanted. The boy appeared more interested; he chose the brightest shirts he could find and set his heart on a pair of white shoes which his sister vetoed on the grounds of impracticality.

“We cannot let him have those, Rra,” she said to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “They would get very dirty in no time and then he will just throw them to one side. This is a very vain boy.”

“I see,” mused Mr J.L.B. Matekoni thoughtfully. The boy was respectful, and presentable, but that earlier delightful image he had entertained of his son standing outside Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors seemed to have faded. Another image had appeared, of the boy in a smart white shirt and a suit … But that could not be right.

They finished their shopping and were making their way back across the broad public square outside the post office when the photographer summoned them.

“I can do a photograph for you,” he said. “Right here. You stand under this tree and I can take your photograph. Instant. Just like that. A handsome family group.”

“Would you like that?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “A photograph to remind us of our shopping trip.”

The children beamed up at him.